


if feelings have temperatures (loneliness is frigid)

by KadeAK (zacixn)



Series: The Tides of War (Dream SMP Season One) [6]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Gen, Homesickness, Isolation, Lack of Belonging, Light Angst, Loneliness, Spoilers for 06/11/20 Livestreams, Wilbur Misses L'Manberg, Wilbur Soot Is Not A Villain, Wilbur Soot Needs a Hug, Wilbur Soot-centric, Wilbur is calmer now (but he's not happy), post-Breakdown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:55:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27425302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zacixn/pseuds/KadeAK
Summary: In the haze of the bomb plot's failure, Wilbur finds his once-hot anger has cooled down into an icy wasteland of loneliness. Pogtopia has become a home for Tommy and their friends, but what about for him? Does Wilbur even have a home or a family anymore? Stumbling into the night, the ex-leader reconsiders how he feels about being so alone in the world, and wonders what the hell he should do about it.Edit 16/11/20: I’m so fucking glad I played my foreshadowing cards right.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: The Tides of War (Dream SMP Season One) [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1909273
Comments: 9
Kudos: 170





	if feelings have temperatures (loneliness is frigid)

**Author's Note:**

> wilbur lonealy. would post to schlattcoindealer but its smp focused so it goes here instead

If feelings had temperatures, loneliness would be absolute zero.

Wilbur watched from above as his supposed comrades planned for the upcoming war he had set into motion, their eager chattering blending into itself and collapsing into a confusing but homely mess. They were happy, even though they knew they might die in ten days. They cheered, even though they knew a traitor lurked among their ranks. They laughed, even though their old leader was only waiting for the final excuse to blow his old land up and burn all of the memories with it.

The distant noises blended together into static in Wilbur’s ears as he fell silent, his once-wide grin nowhere to be seen. He felt hollow as he looked down on the scene, a cold chill piercing his heart and intoxicating his mind.

He could see Tommy and Quackity, taking charge as if they knew how to handle leadership, touring Fundy around the base and declaring routes aloud for resource runs. In the distance was Niki, preparing a large meal alongside Techno in order to feed their suddenly swollen ranks. Tubbo and Bad were hanging out in the pit, having set up a campfire, talking about god-knows-what.

Pogtopia looked like a new home for them. It had become a L’Manberg for those who needed the sanctuary, opening up its care to those who truly deserved and cared for it.

And yet, even though Wilbur had created Pogtopia with his own two hands, it denied him its warmth.  
Pogtopia was not his home. It never would be, never could be. After all, Wilbur didn’t really have a place on the server. Not anymore. His one place had been with L’Manberg, and now that place was gone, long buried with the dawn of the new era.

The rebel only realised he was leaving when the cold chill of the night air hit him, sending a shiver down his spine. He replaced the dirt of the entrance behind him with shaky fingers, letting out a heavy sigh. They wouldn’t notice his absence. Wilbur had made a bad habit of his night-time excursions, after all. 

He’d never felt so isolated before.

The Pogtopians had each other. They were all full of life, despite their dire situation. Wilbur was nothing like that, not anymore - he was a husk of his former self, with only a shred of his insanity left to keep him going. All he wanted was to see an end to his damned legacy, to set his land on fire and coat the dirt in ash and soot. Wilbur had nobody. Chances are, he would never have anybody ever again. Wilbur tried to pretend he was okay with that.

When the rigged TNT was active, at least he had the promise of a future warmth to keep him going. A drive, so to speak, a reason to persevere. Now, as he wandered through the forest, he had nothing. Nothing at all. Not even his attempts at being a villain had worked, easily thwarted by an oversight in long-term security. No doubt, the group were sitting down to eat now, discussing their plans for tomorrow with a newly invigorated sense of life.

Wilbur’s stomach rumbled. He hadn’t eaten all day. Actually, he hadn’t eaten for a long while. He’d sort of expected the sixth to be his last day alive, but no, here he was, stood alone in a forest with nothing to his name but a failed plan and a looming sense of despair.

His communicator pinged where it was kept in his pocket, and Wilbur pulled it out with shaky, trembling fingers. The screen indicated a whisper – who the hell was messaging him?

[TommyInnit]: wilbur?  
[TommyInnit]: where are you? We are having a Pogtopia Feast and You need to be here big man  
[TommyInnit]: senile or not youre still our leader Wilbur u cant just fuckin walk off mate  
[TommyInnit]: come home NOW or I’m gonna start stabbing shit

So, Tommy had noticed his absence. Wilbur noted how his brother referred to Pogtopia as a home, feeling something weird and unpleasant stirring in his chest. Was it… jealousy? Was he jealous of his brother for having found stability among the fear of war? No, no fucking way. Wilbur loved being alone. He loved the cold. He was born in it, for fuck’s sake.

He felt an odd, cold anger simmer in his chest as he leaned against a tree, bitter tears prickling at his eyes and threatening to spill over. It was getting ever-harder to keep up his façade of energy. Was it getting obvious that everything was tiring him out? Wilbur didn't care anymore, not really. Fighting wars, toppling dictators, uncovering betrayals – the rebel was fucking sick of it, actually! Was it so much to ask for everything to explode and finish up with a nice bow on top? Why was everybody so persistent on dragging out his punishment for so long?

[WilburSoot]: Pogtopia isn’t my home.  
[TommyInnit]: look I want lmanberg back too man  
[TommyInnit]: but Pogtopia is our home for now. dont be a dumbass ok  
[TommyInnit]: come home. nikis worried (awkward LOL)

Tommy was playing everything off as a joke. His brother was acting like nothing was wrong. Like he could coax Wilbur back into domesticity by pretending he wasn’t off his fucking rocker. The feeling ought to warm Wilbur up, but it instead froze his chest further. 

He felt like some stray animal, in the process of being forcefully rehabilitated just to be safe around for even a moment – and he didn’t even particularly want to be fixed, not yet. Wouldn’t it hurt to stay broken for a little while? To let the final melodies of destruction play out before Wilbur’s light snuffed out completely? Tommy clearly saw him as some kind of psychopath – no doubt, he was gossiping to Tubbo about his supposed senility at this very moment. Wilbur curled his lip at the thought of it, even though his chest ached with sentimentality. Once upon a time, he would have joined their gossip sessions. Now, it all felt bittersweet, the memories of his once-happiness forever tainted with gunpowder and blood.

Wilbur knew his heart would always belong to L’Manberg. He could never fight against it even in principle - that's why he even bothered going to Pogtopia's side at all during the upcoming war. L'Manberg was his long-dead nation of security, the land he'd bled for over and over. That was his home. That was where he belonged.  
Now it was gone, Wilbur had nothing to lose.  
God, Wilbur missed having something to lose.

[WilburSoot]: i’m not coming back soon. have sand to collect. then meeting dream for gunpowder.  
[TommyInnit]: YOU DONT HAVE TO BLOW IT UP  
[TommyInnit]: please don’t blow it up  
[WilburSoot]: I will either fight to bring my nation to glory  
[WilburSoot]: or I will burn with my own creation.

Yes, he would burn with his own creation. Wilbur liked the idea of that. Sure, his plan had failed once, but he still had a whole lot of TNT to burn through. If Pogtopia had no warmth for him, maybe he should just resort to making his own.

[TommyInnit]: wilbur. we miss you

Wilbur read over the singular message over and over, his eyes dull and struggling to focus thanks to his increasingly painful hunger problem. He wanted to believe that it was true, that Pogtopia was willing to open its arms to him, but no. Wilbur knew how they looked at him. They thought of him as some kind of maniac. A cornered hound, a senile and corrupted leader with not enough healthy brain cells left to process the world around him. It was fucking insulting, actually. Wilbur was perhaps the only person left on the server who really knew what the fuck was going on. They all wanted to dance the game of betrayal and dishonesty – Wilbur was the only one who realised just how little it all mattered anyway.

[WilburSoot]: good night. 

At that, he switched his communicator off, ignoring the now incessant buzzing pouring from it. They’d tire themselves out. It wasn’t like he wasn’t going to fight for them in the war. Wilbur just liked having backup plans. It never hurt to have an alternate route to take, even if said route included copious amounts of TNT.

He smiled to himself, though the expression did not reach his eyes, moving to head further into the ever-growing darkness that had risen around him like thick black ink.  
If feelings had temperatures, loneliness would be absolute zero.

**Author's Note:**

> if u see a typo no u fkcin dont


End file.
